Staying
by G.G. Halcyon
Summary: [COMPLETE] MOLLY/JOHN. John finally decides to take Molly out to lunch.


**Title:** Staying

 **Author:** G.G. Halcyon

 **Fandom:** Sherlock

 **Pairing:** John / Molly

 **Rating:** K

 **Warning:** N/A

 **Publish:** 2015 May 24

* * *

 _John's POV_

Something sticks to me every time I see her. She seems so lonely, so eager for any attention or a social acknowledgment that I feel if I were to come up to her and say "Do you want to go for a walk down the block?" just for the hell of it, or maybe something outrageous such as "Do you want to collect some fucking rocks from the corner parks?" or some other bullocks, she'd probably say "Yes!" just because it meant doing something that involved not dealing with dead people or her old cat Toby.

Am I being pathetic? Am I being cruel? I mean here's Molly, and I see her now in her baggy unappealing clothing—men repellent clothing—with her unappealing side ponytail and she's headed towards me. She's wearing a reddish lipstick and a light coral eye shadow, very clearly having prepared for Sherlock.

I wave at her as she comes closer to me. Somehow I think I'm even smiling a little bit. I realize that my smile comes out easily sincere without me even trying, and I'm reflecting that same awkward, enthusiastic, smile she's giving me.

"I'm just here to drop off some samples," I say to her, handing her a five tiny plastic bags of soil that I'm not quite sure will solve this case, but if Sherlock is adamant about it I'm sure it will.

Molly takes it way too eagerly, her eyes look behind me her a split second, and her smile just falls just a tad bit. For a split second I think she realizes that Sherlock isn't coming through the doors today. This is all just the standard drive and drop-off that I always tend to do for Sherlock when the case really isn't really worth Sherlock's precious time. I'm sure this case will be closed by tomorrow, and I think Molly knows this as she looks through the bag of soil samples that she'll have to be testing in the lab for some sort of pesticide that was the culprit for killing Mrs. Abigail Wormwood's cat and husband.

I'm following her now as she says something I'm not really listening to-I'm sure it's some gibberish formalities to fill the awkwardness of it all-and I walk beside her as I follow her to her lab. The doors open and I see her boss Stewart as he's about to leave. I wonder what he thinks of Molly's association with Sherlock and myself...probably not even worth thinking about. I'm sure in any hospital Sherlock and I would have already been dragged out and taken in handcuffs for being in private property. I'm certain Mycroft somehow had a word with St. Bart's upper management—perhaps paid them handsomely—to let his brother use the labs so freely.

"So, I'm just going to put these over here and uh... I'll be done hopefully by tonight with the findings."

"Sounds good." I nod my head at Molly.

She places the samples on top of her table near her telescope and pipettes and what-not, and turns to me with that smile of hers again. You'd think after working together for so many cases and seeing each other practically three times a week, she'd manage not to seem too nervous, but here she is doing exactly that. I watch her smile ruefully, and uncertain and for God's sake I hate when I can tell she's really trying hard to make conversation, or just be social because dammit if she doesn't suck at it just a little bit.

"It must have been interesting getting all these samples, huh?" She tries to sound upbeat-way too awkward. I just nod my head 'yes'

"Yeah, a lot of digging it took," I say to her; end of conversation-a conversation leading nowhere.

She nods her head way too intently, very eager to listen to more, or looking like she's waiting for me to say something more. Oh for god's sakes...

"Is it a serious heavy case?" She asks.

"Not overly extensive. Just an old lady trying to find out who poisoned her husband."

I try not to say any more-short and sweet conversations with Ms. Molly Hooper.

"Oh my!" She covers her mouth as she gasp, and shakes her head in sincere disappoint. "That's so sad John! Why would anyone do such a thing to an old woman?"

Oh, Molly, Molly... don't you know how these cases are by now? I see the etched concern on her brown about the wellbeing of the now widowed. That's one thing that I always found nice about Molly, she always thought about the family of the deceased; she still showed sympathy. It was a different thing to see,especially since my experience with seasoned pathologist often were those of cold doctors with poor bedside manner... well, not bedside manner, per-se as they deal with dead people, but an lack of emotional human connection of some sort. Molly was different, and her concern somehow reminded me to remember to be 'human' about the particular case, just in case the old woman didn't so happen to kill her husband and cat.

But it still doesn't stop me from trying my best not to look at her in disbelief of how simple she already seems like she's trying to think of the case. I doubt the case is as simple as someone trying to hurt the widow; a strong part of me still believe the old woman had some part in killing her husband. Then again, I think Molly is a smart woman and after years of working with Sherlock and myself I'm certain she knows damn well this isn't a clear-cut case. None of our cases are ever clear-cut, even the most basic cases or 'low hanging fruits' or 'LHFs" as Sherlock love to refer to them recently. I'm certain she knows full well that the old woman was a prime suspect.

"Hmm," I nod my head and say nothing else. I don't want to elaborate or go over every details of the case with Molly. I will have enough of that once I see Sherlock again after his ventures in his 'mind palace'.

"Just, uh, let me know if you find anything that could be poison to kill in those soils," I say, and she smiles brightly again and nods her head.

"I will, don't worry!"

"Text me once you're done."

"Uhm…okay, I will." She says to me as she sits on the chair in front of her telescope readying to work.

I find myself sitting next to her for a few seconds as I sort out the multitude of text messages I received from Sherlock. I feel Molly's questioning gaze on me and I answer her.

"I just need to sort out a few things before I go."

She opens her mouth as if to say something, but close them and simply smile and returns her attention to the telescope.

There is several minutes of silence between us as she meticulously worked on the specimens. I turn to her and watch as her brow furrowed in concentration, so deep in thought. She looks so in control, so confident while she works that if I hadn't known her I wouldn't say that she's the mousy, socially awkward Molly.

I catch myself starring at her and immediately turned my attention to my phone. It seems like I have the remainder of the day until I had to meet up with Sherlock. I turn off the screen to my phone, stand up from my chair and place it in my wallet.

My action causes Molly to stop her work and turn to me.

"Uhm heading out?" She asks.

"Yeah, I guess so." I announce.

"I'll see you!" she says with a smile, which I return. Her gaze studies me briefly and then she returned to her work.

I straighten my jacket and begin to push the lab chair into the table next to her. As I do so I hear a loud grumble.

I look up at her and see her hands pause. The soft grumbling of a stomach—the one that you hear when you're so damn hungry.

She's blushing in embarrassment right in front of me, as her hands wrap around her stomach trying to stop the grumbling. At the same time she doesn't turn her head away from her telesope. I try to brush it off, and simply leave. But it's bothering me—even worrying me just a little—that Molly would plan to help us with the investigation without eating. She was already frail and wiley as it is.

So I decide not to ignore it and she seemed to notice this too, because she looks up at me, her cheeks rosy with her blush, her eyes wide.

"Sounds like lunch time, huh?" I say this in every hope that she realizes I'm just making light of it and it really isn't anything to be embarrass about. You have to eat when you have to, and obviously she has probably been so deep in her work that she had forgotten her lunch. Worst yet, she was always probably planning on working until she finished examining our specimens for the case.

It was pretty late.

"Y-yeah… hungry," she laughs it off slightly, and she looks at her watch on her wrist. "I, uh, didn't realize it was so late already!"

"2 pm, yeah. I haven't had lunch myself, so I don't blame you for being hungry." For Pete's sakes this all sounds like crappy dialogue from a D-list movie. I need to get out of here, a small voice in my head says, but a part of me does not want to until I know she'll be going to grab something to eat before she helped us out with the samples.

She looks at her specimens in the test tubes and the clean slides and piphets she was about to use and back at me. I can't find myself leaving so easily until I see her off to lunch. Somehow she seems to realize that too.

"Well, uhm, I guess it doesn't hurt to grab some lunch," she says to me.

"It's a good idea, especially since you look like you need it." God, I hope that didn't come off harsh, and I'm glad she doesn't think so.

I see her clean up her station—putting the samples away in their secured spots. Next thing I know she is standing in front of me with her hands are in her lab coat—I'm sure to stop them from fidgeting, and we're walking in silence out of the lab.

"Would you want to join me?" Her question was unexpected as she climbed up the stairs to the lobbing.

"No thank you, I'll have to be on my way." Did that sound way too reflexive?

I see something flicker in her eyes—disappointment, maybe? Or relief that she would not have to entertain having to socialize?—then it fades into a smile as she nods again and she's trying to explain herself now—typical Molly.

"Well, just asked because you said you were hungry too,and maybe… uhm...and it's no problem, really, uh..." She should just stop talking sometimes, she stammers when she's embarrass or overthinks herself. I've noticed this before.

We reach the lobby. "Well, I got to go, Molly," I tell her as I point towards the hospital main exit.

"Yeah, me too…" Her voice is low, and she points the opposite direction, "uhm, heading this way for lunch." Her shoulders seem droopy, but I ignore that. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes.

"I'll see you around, yeah?" I waive at her as I turn to leave.

"Yeah, I'll see you!" I catch her wave back and turn around to head to the cafeteria.

A part of me feel bad not accepting her invitation for lunch. But why would I put myself through that? I try to not feel guilty as I walk down the hallway to the exit.

My phone rings. It's Sherlock, of course.

"Yes, Sherlock?" I answer.

"John, are you still at Bart's?" His voice is muffled, but I could still hear it above the noises of a crowd and train tracks whereever he is.

"Yes."

"I spoke to Mrs. Ludwig and found a booklet of—" His voice is cutting in and out and I only make out a few words.

"Sherlock, I can't really make you out!"

"-she knew about the whole incident, John, she's prime suspect she—" I doubt Sherlock heard me as I hear him continue on.

 _-Beep- -Beep-_

"Bugger!" I look at my phone and see the flashing low batter signal.

I try again to warn Sherlock, "My battery is dying. Couldn't hear a bloody word you said!"

I hear him hang up on the other line in response.

I wait a few minutes and my phone buzzes with a text message from him.

 _Make sure to tell Molly that we're looking for traces of xenobiotic chemicals that may be similar to lead.-S.H._

"Xenobiotic chemicals? Layman's term,please?" I say this out loud in exasperation, and like reading my mind, the phone buzz one final time.

'human-made', John. –S.H.

And with that final definition, by phone buzzes and vibrates one final time until it shuts off. Just my luck! I'm now obligated to relay this message to Molly personally, whom I just so eagerly declined—or was it rudely?-for lunch. I shove my worthless phone in my pocket and turn around to head to the cafeteria.

Any other person would have simply texted Molly himself, but not Sherlock. I know damn well he knows that my phone dying would require me to spend more precious time in Bart's speaking to Molly. This—my relaying his messages to Molly—was Sherlock's way of avoiding close encounters with her and I wouldn't blame him. She was a woman who clearly pined after him, and I think Sherlock feels some kind of uneasiness around her especially after the Christmas party in which he finally realized the true intention of her attraction to him. It was very clear that night that Molly was interested in Sherlock in a romantic sense, not just a high-school, fan-club girl level.

The incident occurred only a year ago, and still the interaction between Sherlock and Molly never became the same. Sherlock would deny it, but I know him too well to see the changes. I don't think it has anything to do with a reciprocal feeling—he doesn't feel that way at all towards anybody, especially any woman—but I think it's his weird of dealing with the fact that no matter what, Molly Hooper was a friend. God forbid, Sherlock Holmes was a shit-head when it came to dealing with friends. I know from experience, because I happen to be his best friend.

The main cafeteria is expansive, but as I look around I can't see Molly in sight. I was certain she pointed to this cafeteria as it was the only one of the main floor. Somehow, there's a feeling a guilt going through me, but I don't understand why. It isn't as if my declining joining her led her to go back to her 'dungeon' to return to working. Then again...

I rush to the closes elevator, hop in and punch the 'down' button to the pathology lab. I hope I haven't missed Molly, and that she'll be back where I think she'd be.

I almost burst through the door of the lab and there is Mark, Molly's colleagues whom I startled and looked at me surprised, midway lifting a few test tubes. I don't generally see Mark unless Molly is out of the lab; his main purpose is just to organize and look at the tests when she's not around. He's staring at me like I'm crazy. I don't doubt him; it's something I'm use to especially being friends with a certain high functioning sociopath.

"Ay, John, how's it? Looking for Molly?" Geez, I really wish I could just tell Mark to relay the information to Molly, but from experience I know he isn't the brightest or reliant when it comes to those things. The last time I tried to relay information to him, he never did so and I had to spend hours hearing Sherlock berate him for fudging up classifying whatever it was he was experimenting on. Tough luck for me, since every moment is preventing from getting the hell out of Bart's and enjoying the rest of my day.

"Yes. Where she off to?"

"She headed off to the cafeteria, mate."

"I was just there."

Mark points to the other side of the room, an exit the oposite from where I had came from.

"She probably's in the smaller cafeteria, through there. It connects to the other building."

I have no idea there was an entry to an attached building to St. Bart's; but I am grateful for the information.

"She'll be in the cafeteria there. She just headed there a few minutes ago."

I go through the door and head to the second building. So I follow the signs. A few turns and a few flight of stairs later, I am briskly walking to the cafeteria wanting so badly to get this all over with. At this point I'm sure they're serving dinner and I'm praying that Molly is there, and I don't doubt one bit that she wouldn't be.

I look all over the cafeteria for her. There's so many damn people in here it makes me realize that perhaps it's a common thing that people in the hospitals always took their breaks late if ever at all. In the sea of doctors, nurses and other people in white coats I feel like I may be missing her. Maybe she was sitting with colleagues. I look around again and scan the room and—there she is!

She chooses to sit on the far corner table, her back turned to everyone. She's sitting on one of four chairs, and she chose to sit on the right chair closes to the wall away from everyone. I'm not surprise somehow seeing her like this. Everyone around seemed to be chatting it up with other colleagues, but oh-no not Molly Hooper, the lone pathologist in the basement of one of the top hospital's in the UK. And again I feel the horrid feeling in my gut, like I've done something cruel. I brush that thought and feeling off. I just continue on to her.

"Molly," I brush my had on her shoulder and step back as she gave a stir, a slight shrek and her hand flying to her heart. I notice I almost made her spill her glass of water and I'm so glad it didn't.

"John!" She looks up at me in utter surprise, "I thought you left already!"

"I had to relay a message and my bloody phone died, I'd call you if it wasn't."

"No worries, you're not interrupting anything." She waives her hand over her plate, it's untouched. The food doesn't look appealing at all. It's sliced turkey on white bread with a piece of sickly thin lettuce and tomatoes and a side of crisp. It must not have been appealing for Molly either, because as hungry as her stomach made it sound, it looked like she didn't give any signs to eat it.

"What did you need?" She asks me and I snap my gaze back at hers and I realize I'm still standing, looming over her like an idiot, so I sit across from her instead.

"Sherlock wants you to look for any traces of man-made chemicals and traces of lead in the soil samples."

"I'll make sure to get on it after lunch." She says, and nothing more, and simply smiled up.

I'm quiet for a moment and I rest my elbows on the table and rest my head against my hands. She clears her throat and gather's my attention and I meet brown eyes worried and questioning right at me.

"Are you okay, John?" She says. She still hasn't touched her damn sandwich or made any move to do so. She still hasn't eaten yet. I don't know why, but that simple fact bothers me. My stomach grumbles in the mean time—I'm hungry as hell, not having eatin anything since 8 in the morning.

I look up at her, and I sigh. "Just been a hectic day, is all."

"You..uhm...want to talk about it?" If I haven't been around Molly all these years and didn't know her well, I would say she was just offering it our of formality... but I know her—or at least enougha about her-, and I can tell in her eyes and the slight furrow in her brow as she looks at me that she is genuine and concern.

I feel that fang of guilt again for declining her offer, and I just shake my head 'no thanks'. I change the subject instead, because I didn't really want to explain to her how exasperated I've been feeling lately with Sherlock, or other things in my life. I've never really talked to Molly about things like that. Hell, I've never really had any conversations with her outside of a case and the usual formalities about the weather and 'how are you?-I'm fine, thank you! And you?-I'm good, thank you!'.

I point at her untouched plate, breaking our gaze. "That's good, huh?" I'm being sarcastic, and I'm glad at least she gets it because she laughs lightly.

"Not the greatest, but you can have some if you're, you know, hungry too."

She offers it, but the thought of eating that horrid looking sandwich almost makes me want to vomit. If I was going to eat anything, it sure as hell wouldn't be at that cafeteria. And it also sure as hell wouldn't be that sandwich.

"How long is your lunch break?" I ask her, just curious.

"It's going to be a long shift," she looks at her watch again, "I was thinking of giving myself and hour and a half before I get back to work."

I look at the time on the clock against the wall, and I realize that I need to eat if I wanted to not get anymore agitated and pass out before I continue the rest of my day. I need a decent meal and a beer.

Molly... she needed to eat too, and knowing her and her shifts she'd most likely be staying at St. Bart's well past midnight.

I stand up, way too abruptly and meet her gaze. "Let's go."

Molly looks at me, wide-eyed and full of questions. "H-huh? What do you mean?"

"Let's get out of here and get a decent lunch—dinner whatever the hell it is. This stuff looks like shit, no offense to the awesome cafeteria chef they got here."

She starts to laugh, it's a nice bellow that reaches her eyes, and I find myself laughing with her.

"Well?" I ask her, and she looks at me with a confused gaze, "An hour and a half, right?"

"Yes. But, it's all right, John, you don't have to do this." She is giving me that look again—that look where she seems to accept defeat, as if it was all right for me to be rude and a jerk earlier to abruptly decline her invitation. I can come off as an asshole sometimes, I know.

"Hey, listen, I'm not doing anything I don't want to do." I part of me really wants her just to go on and just come with me easily. A part of me is not liking seeing Molly seem so downtrodden because I was a jerk. A part of me really thinks that maybe once in a while she just needs a decent meal before she worked herself to death... If I couldn't eat that crap they call a meal, I'm sure the least I could do was let Molly not do the same. She was after all planning on staying at Bart's for the whole night looking through the samples to assist in our case. The least I could do was have lunch with her. Well...

Molly looks down at the sandwich and back at me.

"Okay," she says before a quick pause.

She finally gets up and was about to take her tray.

"Leave it. Let's go."

"I can't just waist this," she tells me. "Let me get a container for this. Mark loves these sandwiches."

I shake my head—not surprised at all that Mark would love the sandwich, and also not surprised at Molly's actions. She always thought of others.

I follow her to the area where they had plastic containers for the sandwich, and I watch as she packages it, and even buys a bottle of Coke for Mark.

"Should we buy him a cookie too?" I ask, as we bought headed out of the cafeteria and off to drop the food to Mark before we headed out.

Molly shook her head, "No, too much flavor in that."

We're quiet for a moment, and then I realize Molly tried to make a joke. I chuckle after I realize this, and then a pause until she looks up at me and asks,

"So uhm, where do you plan for us to go?"

"A place that has a decent first meal of the day and no shitty sandwiches."


End file.
